There was an unholy shriek as metal tore, and glass shattered. The world spun, with up and down becoming momentarily meaningless. Colors became red of flame, and red of blood. Then... cold.
A face, framed in white, dressed in red. "Alena Raisel Fournier, you have died, and you will not like what your life has earned." A scent of sulfur.
<Terror, pleading, desperation.>
"However, I have been granted a chance to reverse that."
<Hope, pleading, supplication.>
"This chance is *not* for your sake.